


Adjust/Extemporise

by alltoseek



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, EGTv!AU, HGTV, HGTV!AU, M/M, egt!HGTV!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-16
Updated: 2015-06-07
Packaged: 2018-03-23 07:43:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3760165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alltoseek/pseuds/alltoseek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eames goes for a run, but he doesn't run away.</p><p>(or, what if Eames hadn't been an asshole and said that stupid thing)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [earlgreytea68](https://archiveofourown.org/users/earlgreytea68/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Fixer-Upper](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3234224) by [earlgreytea68](https://archiveofourown.org/users/earlgreytea68/pseuds/earlgreytea68). 



> This is an AU of egt's Fixer-Upper, which is itself an HGTV!AU of Inception. 
> 
> This fix won't make any sense unless you've read Fixer-Upper first.
> 
> Thanks very much to egt for encouraging me to post this!

Eames wakes up to a muzzy view of a pale face and dark hair. _Fuck, it wasn't a dream_. He reaches out to smooth back some of that spiky mess of hair but just then Arthur snorts and shifts in his sleep. Eames carefully draws his arm back. He props himself up on one arm to get a better view.

Arthur has creases in his cheek from the pillow. He's snoring gently. His mouth is open and a thin line of drool connects to a damp spot on the pillow case. His hair is clumped in untidy heaps all over his head. His morning breath is foul. He smells like sweat and semen. 

Eames wants to wake up like this everyday, with a thoroughly debauched Arthur in his bed. He wants to take a picture, to prove that Arthur doesn't sleep with neat slicked-back hair in some kind of three-piece pyjama suit. He wants to save that pillow case and never wash it so it will always have Arthur's saliva DNA on it from his drool. _**Arthur's** drool. On **Eames'** pillow._

_Bloody hell. Bloody buggering sodding hell. I am so fucked._

Eames had known he had it bad. He'd held onto a faint hope that maybe it could've been taken care of in one night. Arthur might have been horrible in bed – it could have been possible. Maybe he would've brought those stupid fucking colour-coded spreadsheets with him. Maybe he'd've insisted on thoroughly researching what both parties wanted and then disappear for a day before actually doing anything. Maybe he wouldn't've wanted to get his hair mussed or his suit creased. (Eames'd tried to tell himself that maybe Arthur would insist on wearing the suit in bed, but then his libido had made it very clear that would have been perfectly all right, so that particular notion didn't help any as a crush-killer.)

Maybe Arthur wouldn't have looked at him with the same open-eyed wonder and adoration he showed at every reveal. Maybe that had been only for the designs, the transformations of the homes – it might not have been for Eames himself. Maybe Arthur wouldn't have melted into the first kiss Eames gave him, or come passionately alive under Eames' touch. Maybe Arthur wouldn't have said, “Off off off _get it **off**_ ,” as he desperately tried to divest himself of his clothes with fumbling fingers, heedless of where his bespoke clothes ended up or what state they were in. Maybe Arthur wouldn't have gasped and moaned and quivered and come completely undone under Eames' hands and mouth. Maybe Arthur wouldn't have looked at him with the same intent, burning focus that he brought to everything, while he brought off Eames.

Maybe. But no such luck.

Last night had been fucking _fantastic_.

And now Eames is going to cock it up. He always does.

He runs a hand over his face. _A run. I'll go for a run; it'll clear my head._ He edges out of bed, trying not to wake Arthur. He dresses quietly, trying not to wake Arthur. He watches Arthur the whole time, making sure he isn't waking up. 

Arthur wakes up while Eames is putting on his trainers. He looks like one of those two-week-old puppies, when their eyes just start to open and they're still a bit squinty and they don't quite understand how bodies work yet. 

Eames has a little speech ready. A little insouciant, nonchalant speech, to demonstrate how Arthur is not the sun around which Eames' world revolves, and Eames will carry on quite nicely whether or not Arthur sticks around. In fact, this carefully prepared speech hints, as pleasant as last night had been, now is already time to move on, because Eames prefers to proceed with his life before he thoroughly fucks up Arthur's, so Arthur might want to take this opportunity to head out before anything truly awful happens. Eames opens his mouth to give his neat, nicely attenuated, Eames-perfected careless speech.

But Arthur is still squinting at him, eyes adjusting to the light, and the crinkles in their corners pull up the sides of his mouth like he is actually smiling at him, and his dimples are peeping out, and as Eames opens his mouth his prepared speech does not come out, and what tumbles out instead is a ridiculous babble of words that goes something like: “Hey, darling, I'm going for a run. Will you be here when I get back? There's water on the night stand and the shower's just through there, if you want. Or you can go back to sleep. I'm just going for a quick run. Stay here and sleep some more. I'll be right back and then we can get some breakfast.” All this is said in a quiet soothing monotone, the kind you use with sleepy toddlers, and it must work on grown-up Arthurs too, because all he does is make a sound that might be “Mmmkk...” and close his eyes. Eames can hear him snoring as he leaves the room.

_Just a quick 5k_ , Eames thinks. See, that'll give Arthur plenty of time to wake up and shower and realise he'll be better off sticking to his tidy routine in his tidy life and not letting any Eames come mucking about in it. But if Arthur does stick around, then a quick 5k won't be so long to wait.

Or maybe 3k would be better. Eames hasn't been running in a while; he's out of shape; doesn't want to come back to the house all wheezing; he asked Arthur to stay; 5k is going to take too long. Three klicks'll be fine.

After one kilometer Eames turns around and heads back. _Fuck, if Arthur didn't think I was an idiot before he will now. What the hell is a 2k run? I ought to come back with lattes or something at least._ But Eames can't stand wondering any more. Will Arthur still be there or not? Will he get impatient and leave? Eames asked him to stay – he shouldn't be gone too long.

Arthur is still there. Still in bed, still snoring. All the breath Eames hadn't had during his run comes whooshing back. He stands listening to Arthur's snores, thinking idly he really ought to record this on his phone, he bet Arthur would deny with his last breath that he snores, and Eames could have this as proof; but finally he discards that idea as one of the many, very many, that keep fucking up his relationships and thinks instead that he really should learn how to function in a relationship without turning into a creepy stalker. He goes to take a shower.

When Eames is finished and comes back out Arthur is awake. Not two-week-old puppy squinty awake but really awake, though he is still in bed, lying on his stomach with his head on his crossed arms, looking at Eames and smiling. The smile grows wider, even, dimples deepening, and Arthur says, “Good morning, gorgeous.”

In a second Eames drops his towel and is straddling Arthur's hips, pressing kisses along Arthur's back and massaging Arthur's shoulders.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> teh sexytiems

Arthur chuckles. “I take it you had a good run, then?”

“Mmm,” says Eames, noncommittal. He can taste Arthur's dried sweat mingled with the scent of Eames' own sheets.

“Maybe a pleasant shower?” Arthur is still relaxed, but getting a bit breathless. He squirms a little under Eames' weight, but not uncomfortably.

“I think,” says Eames, between licks and kisses and nibbles as he works down Arthur's back, “I had a fantastic night and am having an amazingly marvelous morning and – ” he barely cuts himself off before saying _“I love you.”_

“And?” asks Arthur, still playful.

“And I hope you are too,” he mumbles feebly into the small of Arthur's back.

With more confidence he palms Arthur's left buttock cheek, massaging it gently and rolling it slightly open. Eames' tongue slips down the the top of the crease. Arthur gasps and stiffens up a bit from his previous puddle-like relaxation.

“All right?” asks Eames.

“Yeahhh,” breathes Arthur. “But you don't have to...”

“Mmm, but I want.” Eames stops talking, and presses his tongue farther down, between both cheeks, sliding back and forth just above Arthur's anus. He pulls the one cheek away, to give himself room, then lets it fall back, making his tongue drag along the cleft. Arthur is moaning and rocking his hips in short, tense movements. Eames can feel the heat rising in the body below him, smell and taste the growing sweat.

Suddenly Arthur stills and mumbles something into the pillow he's got a deathgrip on.

“What was that, darling?” Eames asks, breathing over the dampness he's left.

“I haven't – fuck, I haven't showered since – since...”

Well, no, he hasn't; Eames had noticed that. But he'd showered before the party last night; all Eames can taste and smell is Arthur's sweat and the musky scent of sex.

“You're delicious, darling,” he says.

Arthur whimpers a bit, and his legs fall open as he relaxes again. Eames slides his body between them, elbows on either side of Arthur's hips, and uses his hands to separate Arthur's buttocks. Now Eames can really get to work, and he does, letting the saliva pool in his mouth so he can lap his tongue wetly all up and down up and down Arthur's cleft, over and around the tight pucker of his hole.

Arthur whimpers a lot.

“Come again, darling? I couldn't hear what you said,” Eames teases.

Arthur turns his head to the side and says clearly, “Fuck.”

Eames blows out his breath over the wet covering Arthur's glorious arse, just to hear Arthur gasp and try stifling another whimper. Eames smiles. “Maybe in a bit.” He goes back to running his tongue around, slicking up the area as much as he can.

Arthur goes back to his desperate moaning.

Eames starts pushing the tip of his tongue inside Arthur's hole, flicking in and out. In and out. As he uses his hands to spread Arthur's cheeks wider, his fingertips get closer to Arthur's hole. Eames runs one finger around the soft puckered flesh, bringing forth a whole new variety of soft breathy moans from Arthur. Delightful. Eames pushes his fingertip inside, alongside his tongue. Arthur rocks his hips slightly, small thrusts back into Eames' finger and mouth.

Saliva alone isn't going to be enough, Eames decides. Keeping the fingers of one hand in Arthur's cleft, caressing and massaging and still gently working one spit-slick finger inside, he raises his body up the bed to reach the nightstand. There he first grabs the water bottle, rinsing and spitting into the bin by the bed, where last night's condoms still lie at the bottom.

He offers water bottle to Arthur, who responds with a half-raised eyebrow, eyes still unfocussed, mouth open but only moans emerging.

“Oh, I like you this way,” says Eames, “Incoherent.”

“Shut up and fuck me,” says Arthur, proving he still has at least one-syllable words at his command. 

“Mmm... but I like seeing your face,” replies Eames. “Slack and open and unfocused... Can I kiss you?” Eames asks hesitantly.

In answer Arthur closes the distance between them and presses his lips against Eames', licking all around the plush breadth of them before sliding his tongue between them.

Now it's Eames' turn to moan in response. He sets down the water bottle and fumbles on the nightstand for the lube. He brings it over Arthur's arse and pours some down between his cheeks, coating Eames' fingers. Arthur's kisses become increasing intense, bringing his own hands up to grasp Eames' shoulders, clutching and squeezing all the muscles he can.

Now with a lube-covered finger Eames sets to working Arthur open. He's very tight. Eames pushes in and out gently, crooking his finger slightly to feel the skin inside. 

“Mmm, so tight, love,” murmurs Eames, into Arthur's mouth, still on his, though their kisses have lost their focus and intensity, mostly just panting into each other.

“I... I, uh, I haven't... long time,” Arthur says, eloquently.

“Shh, it's all right, we don't have to. Just this, fucking fantastic.” Eames has to bite his tongue again to keep the “I love you's” from slipping out.

“I want to,” says Arthur simply. “I want your cock in me. I want to feel you inside me.”

_Ahhh ffffuuuuck_ , thinks Eames, feeling his prick pulse and leak a little at that. “All right, yeah, I just, just gotta last that long,” says Eames, laughing a little and pressing his now rock-hard erection against Arthur's hip. With a shaking hand he squeezes out more lube, and slides a second finger inside Arthur. 

Arthur's hips buck and his back arches. He's lifted up on his forearms, and he turns his head back down, squeezing his eyes shut. “Ahhhh ffffuuuuuck,” he moans. “So good, so good.”

“Yeah,” says Eames. “Yeah, relax for me, darling, you know how. Let me in,” he whispers into Arthur's ear.

Arthur does, and Eames can feel the give as his muscles lose some of their tenseness. Slowly he scissors his fingers, gently pushing in and drawing back out. Arthur is melting back into a puddle on the bed, hips still writhing. “Christ, so perfect for me, love, so beautiful.”

“Your fingers,” says Arthur. “God, your hands...”

Yeah, hands. And speaking of fingers, Eames adds a third and gives a little twist.

Arthur doesn't say anything but the play of expressions across his face is worth a thousand lines of banter. His hips buck and thrust against Eames' hand.

“Your fingers are very talented,” says Arthur, panting. “But I still want to find out what you can do with your dick.” Arthur pushes himself up.

Eames follows, keeping one hand still working in Arthur and pushing himself up with the other. “Wait!” he says, eyes wide.

Arthur smiles. “Don't panic; I'm not going anywhere.” He pushes Eames over from his side onto his back, then straddles Eames' hips and fumbles in the sheets for the lube. 

While Arthur slicks up Eames' prick, Eames continues to move his fingers in Arthur's arse with one hand, and uses the other to fondle Arthur's penis, now so conveniently accessible. “You're a genius,” Eames breathes. This position is _brilliant_. 

“Mmm... Yes, I am,” says Arthur. He slides down on Eames' cock, thrusting and circling his hips, luxuriating in Eames' hands working his penis in front and caressing his buttocks behind. His eyes are closed and his face tilted up, but Eames can still see his smile, those magnificent dimples.

Eames says, “I was talking to myself.”

Arthur laughs, “No, you weren't.”

“No, I wasn't,” agrees Eames. “You're gorgeous, a genius, a fucking amazing _sex god_ , and I'm...”

“You're...?” prompts Arthur.

“Incredibly lucky to have you... have you in my bed,” says Eames, somewhat breathlessly, as Arthur continues his unrelenting fucking.

“Yes, you are,” says Arthur, also rather breathless. “And don't... don't forget it.”

“I won't. Never.”

Arthur's face grows intent, concentrating. “I want to, I want to feel you come in me, I want to come all over you – you got all clean, I'm still a sticky mess, I want you covered in me.”

Listening to Arthur talk this way, these words spilling from him, Eames is so fucking turned on. He watches Arthur riding him and pumping himself. Eames has a hand on Arthur too, but Arthur knows how he likes it. Eames has a hand on Arthur's hip, holding on, bucking into Arthur's thrusts, trying to match Arthur's rhythm on his cock.

A final groan and Eames feels Arthur clenching around him, coming, covering Eames' stomach and splattering his chest.

Arthur is still a moment, riding out the shudders through his body. He holds Eames' hand still on his softening, sensitive cock. Then his eyes open and focus intently into Eames. Bringing Eames' hand to his hip he starts riding him purposely. “Come on, Eames, come on and fuck me. I want all of it. I'm going to feel you leaking out of me all day; I love that.” 

Eames can only hold on, barely a coherent thought in his head. Then his brain catches up to what Arthur's just said: “Wait, you in your... in your prim proper suit and tie and your spreadsheets and the whole time my spunk is soaking your pants and you – and you _like_ that.” 

“Mmm, I _love_ it. I'm so fucking filthy – and it's my secret. Feels awesome.”

Eames feels about to explode.

And then he does.

When Eames' grip on Arthur's hips loosens, the rest of his body gradually relaxes too, until he is lying in a sweet post-coital bliss. Arthur slides his hands along Eames' torso until his arms are up around Eames' shoulders, Arthur lying flush along him. Eames wraps his arms around Arthur. He can feel the pool of sweat and come and lube between them. As his softened cock slips out of Arthur he feels a trickle of semen follow it. He thinks hazily about Arthur's words: “ _I love feeling you leaking out of me all day_.” Did he mean it or is it just something he says during sex? Probably doesn't matter...

Eames eyes fly open. “Oh, fuck!”

Arthur startles up. “What?”

“I'm so sorry, Arthur, we forgot to use condoms. Fuck, I'm sorry.”

“Oh.” Arthur's face looks a little blank.

“If it helps any, I am clean,” Eames tries to reassure Arthur. “I just got tested a month or two back.”

“I know you're clean,” replies Arthur. “I am too, if you'll take my word for it.” Arthur slides back down to rest his head on Eames' shoulder.

“Of course I will, darling.” Eames relaxes back, still wrapped around Arthur. Eames would trust anything Arthur said. Arthur's a lot of things, but dishonest isn't one of them. Also, he doesn't state things as facts if he's not absolutely certain of them.

Then Eames thinks over what Arthur just said. His brain is still offline from fantastic sex; that's his excuse for being a little slow on the uptake. “Arthur, darling,” Eames says, “what did you mean by 'you know I'm clean'?”

Eames feels Arthur tense up, and runs his hands along Arthur's back to reassure him. Arthur keeps his head tucked in Eames' neck and says, a little muffled. “Well, um, research, you know. It's my specialty.”

“Research,” says Eames flatly.

“Yeah. So, um, anyway, we should probably both get tested again, in any case. If we're going to keep doing this.”

“...Right. Yeah, OK,” agrees Eames.

“So, uh, are we going to keep doing this?” Arthur asks. His voice sounds small and tentative.

Eames grins and hugs him in tight. “I should bloody well hope so!” He feels Arthur's answering smile against his skin and Arthur's body relaxing down on his own once more. Eames stifles the _“I love you”_ that bubbles up again, and turns his face into Arthur's cheek and plants kisses all along his jaw. He feels Arthur kissing his way up along his neck to Eames' face, until finally their mouths and eyes meet, and they kiss until they dissolve into laughter instead.


End file.
